Here I Stand.

Ser Jorah entered his Queen’s tent, bowing his head, “My apologies, Khaleesi, but the Unsullied caught one of the sellswords trying to sneak into the camp. He claims to come bearing gifts. It’s the yellow fool with the blue hair.” Without another word, he existed for a moment only to bring her the man that called himself, Daario Naharis. The exile studied the sellsword, displeased with the way the man watched his Queen. Aye, he was younger and brazen in ways Jorah was not, and more favorable to the dragon queen, but he still hated watching her favor others in front of him. How he yearned for the stares these two exchanged, hoping for those violet orbs to pierce him for longer than a moment. The blue-haired fool fought his way out of the Knight’s grasp, moving closer to Daenerys, too close for his liking; bending to one knee and in a blink, Daario’s Arakh was free of its sheath. Jorah’s hand reached for the pommel of his longsword, grasping it and quickly releasing it from the scabbard. Steel kissed flesh, waiting to lay open his throat. The sellsword only laughed, angering him more, but the man never moved, only said, “My sword is yours. My life is yours. My love is yours. My blood, my body, my songs, you own them all. I live and die at your command, fair queen.” 

The bear gripped his sword tighter, itching to spill the blood of this peacock, uttering the same oath that he did not long ago, and only receiving a soft and gentle kiss to his cheek before turning back to her regal self and demanding that he remember his place and that she will hold him to his oath. Now this man sings her praise with a cocky smile that Jorah wanted to wipe off his face. He did not trust this Daario Naharis. “That would not be wise, my queen.” Ser Jorah gave Daario a death stare, daring him to challenge his words.  Please, keep him under guard until the battle is fought and won.” The flush that graced her cheeks when she turned to look at the sellsword caused him to look away, ashamed at the jealousy that washed over him. 

The Tyroshi got to his feet, shoving the steel away like nothing, before bowing to the queen he swore his sword for and swept from the tent without another word. Ser Jorah lingered. “Khaleesi,” He said sternly, “you cannot trust him. We know nothing of this man--” He swallowed for a moment, letting the lump that formed in his throat to pass before continuing. “He has a way with words, aye, but what do we know of his intentions?” He sighed, “Daenerys, I am thrice your age, “ Ser Jorah said. “I have seen how false men like him are. Very few are worthy of trust, and Daario Naharis is not one of them. Look at what he did to his own men? What do you think will happen after he brings you the stormcrows?” The silence that followed started to make him nervous--she never kept her thoughts from him. His face softened’ perhaps he was too harsh with her, too blunt, becoming too familiar with her. With her back towards him, he could not see her thoughts or emotion--uncertainty started to unfold, causing his hand to reach towards her delicate shoulder. Knowing his place, he lowered his hand, ready to leave, when her sweet voice broke all resolve. “I did not dismiss you, Jorah. Your Queen has not given you permission to walk away,” Still as stone from her command, he lowered his head, ready for the sharp words that were sure to come. 

A warm, delicate hand cupped his cheek; lightly stroking the scruff, lingering for a moment before trailing its way towards the soft curls that curled at his nape. His breathing seized; daring not make a sound for it would ruin this moment that he longed for since he laid eyes on her. When fingers wrapped and toyed with his hair, he couldn’t help but close his eyes in contentment, lost in the touch that would never happen again. The coldness that once was present was replaced by fire; her lips softly pressed to his, molding them to shape around her cupid-bows, pulling him closer, allowing him the warmth that her body was ready to share for the two of them.  He wanted to enfold her in his embrace, lift her up, and carry her to the pillows that littered the corner, but the other part of him knew he should stop this before she shattered his heart to pieces. 

Rules: Bold what applies to your muse and repost

SNOW WHITE.

jade trinket boxes. taste of iron. fingertips on a mirror. yellow and green with envy. long handled hunting knives.  sewing by the window. combs laced with pearls and poison.  an apple white one side and red the other. white doves. frosted glass.

THE MAIDEN WITHOUT HANDS.

a blunt axe. a ring of chalk. tear-stained cheeks. sweet pears. hands tied behind back.shallow rivers. aching feet. walking for days. flowing gowns. liquid silver. wax seals.blinding lights.

THE THREE LITTLE GNOMES IN THE FOREST.

lukewarm bathwater. sapphire butterflies. tiny milk snakes. baskets of strawberries. fat toads. sparkling snow. fur cloaks. raw gemstones. kettles made of copper. red wine. a tiny cottage in the middle of nowhere.

BLUE BEARD.

a tiny key made of gold. pools of blood. stains that won’t rub away. galloping hooves. treasures from far away lands. dragged by the hair. dark and damp cellars. marble walls. shivering with fear. screaming at the top of your lungs.

THE SIX SWANS.

sitting side-saddle. daughter of a witch. nettles. white feathers. refusing to smile. needles and threads. a castle in the forest. sound of beating wings. birthmarks. climbing trees.balls of yarn. silver crowns.

LITTLE RED CAP.

wildflowers. rich-tasting cake. wicker baskets. the path rarely trod. sharp teeth. curtains drawn. a dying fireplace. grey pelts. red velvet. handmade quilts. sunlight peeking through branches. opening corks with a satisfying pop. looking someone directly in the eye

Was tagged by someone that deactivated. 

Accepting: asks from Send in for my muse’s reaction

Ser Jorah gave a sharp knock at his Queen’s Door. The door opened swiftly, revealing the handmaiden, Irri, staring at him sleepily. The woman did not offer any words, only stood there, until his Khaleesi spoke, only saying come. He knew it was dark and hard to tell who it was, but she seemed to recognize him in the shadow. The exiled knight ducked his head as he entered. “My Queen. I am sorry for disturbing your sleep.” Ser Jorah bowed his head, “My Queen,” he repeated again, “I was hoping to have a few private words.” When she nodded and padded the bed beside her, he sat beside her, waiting for Irri to take her leave. “I wanted to speak about Strong Belwas. This Arstan Whitebeard.  And Illyario Mopatis, who sent them. The Warlocks in Qarth have warned you of being betrayed three times,” The knight said, as Viserion and Rhaegal watched them closely. “Mirri Maz Duur was the fist. And now these two appear. This is troubling and something we dare not excuse.” His thoughts were forgotten, as Silver tresses fell forward, framing round breasts that were revealed from the fallen blanket; his eyes and silence must have betrayed him, as her hands hastily pulled the blanket back up to cover her chest. Ser Jorah lifted his gaze, and his dark eyes met her own. “Don’t forget, your grace, that Robert has promised Lordship to the man that slays you. I understand that Arstan has saved you from the Manticore in Qarth, but I cannot help but think how easily it could have been your throat. My Queen, has it not occurred to you that he may be in leagues with the assassin?” How much do you trust Magister Illyario?” He asked, not sharing the same smile that graced the Khaleesi’s face. “He is a clever man and clever men hatch ambitious plans.”

Ser Jorah stood. “Perhaps you should head to Slaver’s Bay. The Magister eagerly awaits you in Pentos, wanting you back under his roof. But see how quick these wealthy friends turn their backs to your cause; you need to ask Captain Groleo to turn this ship towards Slaver’s Bay, and you will see the Army that awaits you there. Astapor is where you should set sail, you can buy the unsullied.” The advice must have been what she needed; she quickly tossed the blanket aside, striding over to her chest in the corner, tossing it open and forgetting that she was naked in his presence. The old bear studied her curves in the lamplight, staying very still, clutching his fists to resist going to her. The awkwardness seemed to fade with the beautiful sound of her voice, commanding him to bring her medallion belt to match her sandsilk trousers. She started to ask for something else as she turned towards him, but before she could turn herself completely around, he wrapped his arms around her. The iron studs from his leather jerkin dug into naked breasts as he crushed her hard against him. One hand held her by the shoulder while the other slid down her spine to the small of her back, opening her mouth with his tongue, accepting the invite immediately. He released her, immediately after getting a taste of something that was forbidden for so long, not apologizing for anything that transpired, only telling her what he always wanted to say. “I should not have waited so long. I should have kissed you in Qarth, in Vaes Tolorru. I should have kissed you in the red waste, every night and every day. You were made to be kissed, often and well.” Before he could say anything more, his Queen, His Khaleesi, Daenerys...stepped back towards him and shoved him down upon her bed, straddling him, pressing her delicate hands atop his chest to hold him in place. The look in her eyes was confused, but her heavy breathing spoke of her intentions; he laid there, daring not touch her without consent, waiting for her to make the first move, say something to break this fevered dream. He was in her hands now, and she could easily break him.

Accepting: Meme ‘She Won’t Mind.’

“I don’t know what you expect me to say.  If you’re asking, If I need you, then the answer is forever...” Jorah said. The next part that the golden lion seemed eager to hear was hard to express; the words were thick on his tongue, leaving him silent and only able to stare into his cat-green eyes. Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he spoke the next words more confidently, “If you’re asking, if I’ll ever leave you, the answer is never...If you are expecting me to say  more, I cannot promise you that.” 

The knight bowed his head, not able to look upon the handsome face that seemed to cut through him like a knife, letting the silence eat away at him. The words echoed in his mind, urging him to spill them out, speak freely and stop hiding the truth, but he could not muster up the courage. Closing his eyes, he whispered, barely audible for even his own ears, “If you’re asking, what I do value, the answer is you...Shouldn’t that be enough?”

For Dany

Jorah Mormont’s face was dark with anger, but he answered the princess in a tone that was far from the rage that was apparent on his face. “Princess these people are not to be trusted, we need to tread carefully. Behind their stone walls is a place that is used for sacrifice; they call it the temple of memory. Be careful of the garden of gehane, Khaleesi, the Warlocks here have taken it over.” The stone walls were tall and foreboding; the Khaleesi was right, the place failed to please the eye, but he knew the proportion and size was to fool those from glimpsing the death that was inside. “Please, Khaleesi, I beg of you...Do not enter those gates, for fear we will never see the outside of them again.”

The words hung in the air between them, leaving no more room for discussion, as the gates open, revealing what the gates hid from the world. Bright buildings, bronze snakes shaped to replicate lovemaking,  jade was used in their scales to draw your eye to the piece. The knight shook his head, not trusting this place, knowing that the beauty before them was a trap and one that Daenerys would fall into. “Perhaps they set the gates and outside to be sized and proportioned, failing to meet the eye to keep people out and take their enemies to meet their death. I do not like this, Princess.”

[sms: JL]: I am not falling asleep. Autocorrect is having a good time with me tonight and slurring my words. 

[sms: JL]: Now what were you saying? Something about your sister and Brienne...

Let me see...Because I am feeling talkative, I shall share all three that were mentioned. 

A character that I have played in the past was Steffan Salvatore and Dan Humphrey. I was younger back in the day and had a thing for broody sorts, lol. Which is probably why ten years ago, I started writing Jon because it was easy to connect. But sadly, I have not written much outside of Game of Thrones, the fandom has been something that I cherish and can’t really escape. 

A character I would love to play in the future...I don’t know.  My life has been invested in writing for Game of Thrones that writing something else seems so weird to me. I just recently moved away from this fandom to a new one to try out, and I have yet to write there, but I have created a Witcher Multi-muse. But my heart will always be with Game of Thrones.

“No, Khaleesi, keep the blankets for yourself,” in his normal gruff tone. “You need to keep warm; the flurries are a sign of icy winds, and they are never kind to those stuck in its path. The North has built my blood for this, a blanket would do better in your company, I promise you. Let me find you a warmer place to dwell.” Helping her to her feet, he wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders, blocking anyone that dare touch her. Hurriedly, he ushered her to a spot under some trees that had branch coverage, offering protection from the snow. “You should stay here, your grace, until Jon Snow arrives from White Harbor. The Northerners are full of pride, and will not open their hearths to you without an invitation.” The shivering that overtook her was whacking her body with a violent force, making her lips tremble, and chattering that was impossible to ignore. Without permission, he pulled her blankets around her further, moving his hands up and down the blanket surrounding, her arms, hoping to create friction for heat. “Thank you for offering your blankets, no one has ever bestowed such kindness on me before.” 

NAME : Meagan aka Sheila (A joke with Sharna, lol)

GENDER : Female

ZODIAC : Pisces

HEIGHT : 5′4′’

SEXUALITY : Bi

HOGWARTS HOUSE : Gryffindor

FAVOURITE ANIMALS : Dolphins and Wolves

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP : lately 8, in two weeks, 6

NUMBER OF BLANKETS : In winter a pile, a princess n the pea scene. In summer, nothing.

WHERE I AM FROM: Northern California

DREAM TRIP : Scotland, Italy, and Hawaii

WHEN I CREATED THIS ACCOUNT : 2019 (only a couple of months ago)

WHY I CREATED THIS ACCOUNT : Jorah was a character that I loved from the beginning and always wanted to write for him but felt like I would never do him justice. Oddly, I wrote with a Jorah from another platform that was amazing, almost like the real deal. Which is actually funny, I wrote as Dany, and now the roles have reversed. I am now Jorah here and she is a Dany here (point of that story was, that Jorah taught me how to write Jorah and take on that character. I was inspired). If I ever have to choose my favorite characters, Dany and Jorah are it. Another reason I created this account was, I wanted to write with a Jorah on my Dany blog and could never find one. I thought maybe others felt the same way, but more Jorah blogs popped up before making this and it just pushed me further to do it.

FOLLOWERS : 443 (wow, I can’t believe that many follow me). 

TAGGED BY : @dracaesanguinem​ (I need to start writing with you and give you my discord)

Jorah pulled the reins to his horse, halting him in front of the scene before them. Khaleesi was standing there with a hand wrapped around her throat, Viserys looking shocked. Jhogo had his whip wrapped around the young man’s neck, pulling it back, choking the beggar King. At Irri’s angry words, he turned to her, “I warned him what would happen; he was advised to stay on the ridge, and he did not heed my warning. Jhogo followed him here to see what he was up to,” Ser Jorah told her. 

He lay on the ground, sucking in air noisily, red-faced and sobbing. What a disgrace. Nodding towards the horse, the knight spoke to Irri again, “Will you take his horse?”

Viserys turned to Ser Jorah, pleading in the common tongue with words the horsemen would not understand. “Strike her, Mormont, I command it!” Jorah shook his head at the vile words, turning his eyes away from the prince. “Irri, what is the Dothraki way to teach lessons to those that harm a Khaleesi?”